


Slice of Afterlife

by bardsley



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardsley/pseuds/bardsley
Summary: Dehlia lives in a haunted house.





	Slice of Afterlife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TanyaReed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/gifts).

The old taps groaned and vibrated in the walls of the manor house. Dehlia groaned too, stretching in bed and enjoying the twinge and ache of well-used muscles. Her hand brushed against a bottle of water, still chilled. Dehlia realised she was thirsty. She sat up in bed properly, and noticed the blood red rose beside the water bottle resting on the antique cherry wood night table. 

Dehlia smiled. She picked up the rose, letting the petals brush against her cheek. The rose smelled heady and rich. The roses from the garden were much more fragrant than any hothouse flower. 

She imagined Edmond slipping out of bed by night while she slept and making his way to the garden. Dehlia had told him more than once that she would rather have him beside her than tending to the house. But while he was a devoted servant in every other way, he grew restless while she slept. The dead did not need to sleep. Dehlia let the rose drop to her lap. 

Edmond’s night wanderings might have bothered her more, but Dehlia had never once woken in the night to find him absent. He seemed to have a preternatural gift for anticipating her wants before she was aware of them herself. As good as she felt now, she would feel even better after a warm bath. During the bath, if Edmond scrubbed her back. 

“Good morning!” Dehlia called loudly. She reached for the bottle and her mind was brought back to last night. The bottle was cool and reminded her of Edmond’s fingertips on her overheated skin. She drank eagerly.

A moment later, the sound of water shuddered to a stop. Edmond shimmered into the room. “Good morning, mistress.” He moved to open the drapes. 

“Leave them closed.” 

Edmond was always more translucent by daylight, and she wanted to enjoy looking at him. Edmond obeyed immediately and without question. He turned to face Dehlia, standing alert for the merest breath of her next command. 

Dehlia simply breathed in the moment. The uniform he wore was crisply pressed. Nearly everything about him was neatly arranged, from his polished black shoes to his starched white collar. The two rows of silver buttons on his jacket gleamed in spite of the dim light. 

The only thing in the slightest disarray was his wavy, dark brown hair. He had somehow let his hair grow too long, all those years ago, when it could still grow. Dehlia was not sure how someone as fastidious as Edmond could have been so remiss, but she was grateful. She liked running her fingers through it. 

Dehlia wondered whether Edmond’s pristine appearance was due to how fastidious he had been before he died, or some characteristic of the afterlife that made his appearance unchangeable. She would have asked, but Edmond’s answer was, invariably, that he did not know. 

Edmond remembered dying of a fever. He did not know why he woke up dead in the house. He did not know why he could be seen and heard and felt within the grounds of the house. Edmond remembered it had not always been that way. Awareness seemed to come slowly, by degrees. 

The decades he had haunted the house, barely aware of the world with the world barely aware of him had seemed to further temper Edmond’s already refined disposition. 

Edmond stood perfectly poised, like a dancer waiting for the signal to begin the performance. She nodded. He smiled, and came to her. His long, pale fingers took her firmly but gently by the arm and guided her out of bed. 

The rose tumbled from her lap, but Edmond plucked it from the air before it could hit the ground. He held it out to Dehlia in a gesture that was unmistakably adoring. 

“This is a funny kind of afterlife, isn’t it?” Dehlia asked. She hadn’t meant to. Her fingers reached for the rose, taking it carefully by the stem. She wished she could take the question back as easily. Edmond was always so conscientious with her. She would never want to say anything that might cause him a moment of annoyance, even by accident. 

“Yes, mistress,” Edmond replied. His voice was as smooth and cool as water on a parched throat. “I can only assume that I was a better man in life than I can remember.”

Dehlia laughed. The tilt of her head was a question. 

“Because, mistress, spending eternity knowing and caring for you, that is heaven.”


End file.
